We ducked through a gap in the Kremlin wall and wandered into a snow-covered courtyard.

A handful of women stood near the entrance with outstretched hands. They stepped aside as we passed.

Dani picked up a little painted oval no bigger than a postage stamp.

The woman behind the counter smiled.

“Finift.”

We looked at each other.

“Finift.”

She said it again.

Neither of us had any idea what she meant.

She reached for a sheet of paper.

First she drew a spiral.

Then little dots around it.

Then a jagged line across the top.

She turned the paper toward us.

Dani’s face lit up.

“Mother of pearl!”